The Misfortunes of Vice or 120 Days of Tangled
by The Marquis De Sade
Summary: The wicked villains of my lost novel 120 Days of Sodom find themselves trapped in the Chateau de Silling by a terrifying young girl with magical hair who intends to teach them the true meaning of exquisite torture and the delicious exercise of power.


**"The Misfortunes of Vice"**

**or "120 Days of Tangled"**

By Donatien Alphonse François de Sade

_But first a word from the Author:_

Madames and Monsieurs, prepare yourselves for a tale no less extraordinary than it is horrific – and indeed what else have you come to expect from my pen? Was it not my potent quill that ejaculated upon the virgin pages of those volumes now banned by the Church and the State the tale of that poor, virtuous beauty Justine and her chastisement at the hands of a thousand libertines, even those from whom she sought refuge? Was it not I who inked upon a single scroll the tale of those four reprobates: the Duc de Blangis, his brother the Bishop l'Évêque, Durcet, and the Président de Curval and how they sought to practice upon their victims the religion of profligacy that had supplanted in their hearts that religion of mildness and charity that all good souls must cherish? But alas! the world can never know my _120 Days of Sodom_ – it has been lost forever to me, my scroll of paper more than likely used as tissue to wipe the noses (and worse) of my jailers. Curse them! May all the horrors on these following pages fall directly upon their heads.

You may be wondering with good reason how it is that I, a prisoner of France, am writing to you, a reader of some distant century. You may be wondering still more why it is that a man of my tastes should be so familiar with a moving painting entitled _Tangled_ and, I am told, conceived of by an institution known in your time as Disney. The answer is nearly as long and complex as the tale you are about to read, but my present passion is to continue penning the adventures of my four intrepid villains and as I subscribe to much the same study of libertinage that these men do, I must follow my lusts whithersoever they lead and shall relate to you my history, interesting though it may be, at some later date.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter the First: A Return to the Chateau de Silling<strong>

Even the pursuit of vice, delightful though it is to those whose hearts are so corrupt that the thought of performing a single good deed is as abhorrent as the thought of murder to purer minds, leaves one with a certain physical fatigue that must be satisfied. The Duc de Blangis, his brother the Bishop, Monsieur Durcet, and the President de Curval had just patronised a bordello and after a mere twenty minutes of phenomenal exertion and prowess had left the place a virtual abbatoir. Needless to say, their spent energies were in dire need of replenishment and, as it was their custom to frequent a local opera house in order to secure an alibi for themselves following the commission of their obscure and often criminal passions, the four libertines began to pray fervently that the reception following the night's entertainments would provide a heavier fare than the usual bland _hors d'ouevres_. However, as though the hand of Justice had already begun to seal the doom of the wretched foursome, the only refreshments to be found were a few bottles of carbonated water, clusters of grapes, skewered squares of cheese, and a seemingly endless plethora of crackers.

"Curse my eyes!" the Duc declared after uttering several other luxurious phrases. "I tell you, friends, that I am so ravenous that I've a good mind to break the neck of yonder charming little waiter over my knee and devour his brain and liver – and even then I think that I should still feel out of sorts."

(The young man to whom he referred, recognising the Duc and his comrades, began to edge his way out of the banquet hall and, before the Duc had even finished his sentence, had already raced all the way back home, bolted the door shut, crawled into bed, and was so discomfited that the next morning found himself obliged to call in sick.)

I described these four villains twice over already in my darling masterpiece _120 Days of Sodom_, but since these pages have been lost forever to the world – and, as I never tire of painting the portraits of these blackguards, scandalous though they may be – I shall do them over again here so that the reader may have some idea of the company that he must keep over the course of this tragedy.

The Duc de Blangis was a man whose every physical attribute seemed formed by the hand of Heaven while his soul seemed an ember spat from the very fires of Hell – a veritable Titan, particularly in respect to those portions of his being that afforded him the highest and most exquisite pleasures, but a cruel glutton whose cravings transformed him at once into both the tyrant of those whom he constrained to his will and the slave of his own elusive and obscure passions.

His brother was the Bishop l'Évêque, a lean and subtle man, far less ably-built than his sibling but surpassing him in subtlety and cunning and certainly his equal in a desire and capacity for cruelty.

But if these brothers appear reprehensible, then they are rendered at least slightly less loathsome by the President de Curval who was so supremely degenerate in his habits that, besides having committed an untold number of crimes upon a score of helpless victims over the course of his entire worthless existence, he had not bathed in at least a year, making it seem like a capital punishment even to stand at a distance of several yards within his presence.

Monsieur Durcet made up the final cornerstone of this hellish quadrangle: a slender, womanish man whose charming manner of speech served to ably distract from the depraved and corrupted soul hidden beneath.

In spite of their differences, all four of these scoundrels resembled each other well enough to where their murderous careers, taken individually, were equally capable of terrifying all those unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Taken together, they were naturally a source of great distress to the general public – but, as they were men of rank and fortune, justice had never been obliged to take action against them.

They found themselves in something of a predicament, however, for their stomachs still demanded satisfaction and they had learned from sorry experience that all the other dining establishments in town closed their kitchens and locked their doors whenever any one of the four even so much as gave a sidelong look in the direction of their premises. Moreover, the Duc had amply demonstrated the aforementioned breadth of his appetite by downing the 40 bottles of carbonated water, 20 platters of chilled grapes, 500 cubes of cheese, and 200 crackers that constituted the entire fare of that after-concert reception, all in the space of five minutes, leaving his comrades with not so much as a single shish kabob with which to sate the fires of appetite that yet raged within their intestines. And the Duc himself, even after this shocking demonstration, still remained as ravenous as ever.

"I fear, Messieurs," said the Bishop, "that there is nothing left for us to do but return home and see what refreshments we can assemble for ourselves from the cellars and cupboards there."

The villains all agreed to this course of action and, with tempers only slightly appeased, began to wend their way homewards in the direction of the Chateau de Silling.

Even from the distance of a mile, however, they could discern that something terrible had been perpetrated upon their beauteous manse. The grim and frowning battlements were decked with wreaths of blushing carnations and in lieu of the customary wheeling of a rook above the grounds of the chateau, the libertines could discern the maddeningly blithe chirping of bluebirds as they nested in the eaves of the castle towers. As they passed through the doors of the chateau, they saw that even the sanctity of their dining hall had been violated, with the delightful tapestries that had depicted various lascivious scenes from Roman history now replaced with crude, finger-painted glyphs of stars, bug-eyed lizards, and a girl with flowing blonde hair attired in robes of purple.

"This is ghastly…" Durcet murmured.

"Are we the victims of banditti?" the President enquired.

"Our unwanted guests shall repent of their intrusion very shortly," the Bishop prophecied.

"Bugger my soul, but I'm still famished," the Duc interrupted. "Let's to the kitchens and ponder this mystery at our leisure after we are well sated."

The jaded rogues proceeded in the direction suggested by the Duc. Just as they crossed the threshold into the scullery, however, they were each met with the blow of a skillet landing squarely on top of their heads, resulting in all four villains finding themselves heaped on top of one another on the kitchen floor, their heads throbbing with both discomfort and bewilderment. Before they faded into the enveloping darkness of a swoon, however, they heard the voice of a young girl gasp and say, "Oh my, you don't think that those dents in their heads are going to be permanent, do you, Pascal?"

The diminutive chameleon sitting on the flagstones surmised the four libertines for a moment and then held up its green paws, its gesture of indifference signalling a calloused nature that would brook no mercy, not even for those already crushed into submission and lying broken at its feet. Its jaws opened and the length of its tongue abruptly shot out, snatching a helpless fly in the midst of its airy flight; the slow movement of mastication as its tongue worked over its victim, combined with the cold reptilian glint in its eyes, revealed the full extent of its appetite for suffering. Fortunately, the four men had passed out and were unable to comprehend this facet of the creature's character.

In the meantime, the girl knelt beside the four of them with an expression of concern, whispering to the lizard, "Oh, Pascal, now I've done it! What should I do now with them, do you think?"

The lizard, its expression remaining as fiendishly immobile as ever, responded without hesitation by curling one of its claws into a fist and directing the extended thumb resolutely downwards.


End file.
